


Dead Men Tell No Tales: Averted

by BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk



Series: The Moon Lancer and The Heart Dancer [1]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Della clearly acts morally gray with good intentions, Dewey's obsession to find answers, Duckworth does have rebellious tendencies, Gen, Headcanon, In accordance with a theory of mine, Parallels to Dewey and Della (and sometimes Scrooge), Storytelling and Flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 19:12:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14775548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk/pseuds/BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk
Summary: "Curiosity killed the cat," Dewey was told many times.But Dewey at least knew the end of that phrase, "Satisfaction brought it back."Or Dewey learns more about his mother from a ghost.





	Dead Men Tell No Tales: Averted

**Author's Note:**

> this duckworth is less stoic because 1) a child is talking to him and 2) he's technically a monster with harder to repress urges
> 
> for any questions, ask away in the comments!
> 
> God bless frank and matt

The looming thought of a ghost butler haunting the mansion was...oddly normal.

 

It was a little unsettling for Dewey to know that he was literally desensitized to all the weird stuff that occurred in his life so far.

 

Under a streak of boredom, he caught said ghost butler that he was just pondering about dusting some paintings in the hallway. (These looked like portraits of ducks he never knew anything about. He wonders if they are family too.) 

 

Come think of it, he hasn't seen these portraits before. Or this entire hallway.

 

"This looks new," Dewey spoke his mind, the flap flapping of his feet the only sound audible.

 

"I suppose you don't pass here often, sir," Dewey jumped a little, forgetting he just spoke out loud.

 

"I was sure Webby showed us all of the mansion--wait," Dewey ran towards the ghost, "is this a secret hallway?"

 

Duckworth paused, having just finished dusting a portrait of Dingus McDuck. "I'm afraid not."

 

That was the last portrait. "It looks like it's been silently off-limits."

 

"I guess." Dewey commented. "Hold up, why are you here?"

 

"Trying to finish Mrs. Beakley's unfinished work." Duckworth placed down the dusting brush. "It's no wonder why this place was a mess earlier--it hasn't been touched in years."

 

"That explains the untouched dusty door I just went through." Dewey adds. "Is this where you stay when you want to be alone?"

 

"...I will neither affirm or deny that." He faced Dewey.

 

"Huh."

 

Dewey then watched the ghost pace about the hallway. Perhaps checking on any more dust left.

 

"Do you need anything in particular?" Duckworth got Dewey's attention.

 

"Uh," Dewey forced his mind to think of a request.

 

Duckworth was suddenly right in front of the young duck, hands behind him.

 

"Let me have a minute,"

 

"Take all the time you need, sir."

 

Duckworth waited patiently until Dewey lit up. The butler raised a brow.

 

"Do you know anything about Della Duck?"

 

Duckworth's ears perked up, eyes wide.

 

"Della Duck?" He mouthed, silent but breathy.

 

Dewey nodded eagerly.

 

At that moment, Duckworth grabbed Dewey's arm and brought themselves into a dark room, the ghost himself a source of some illumination. 

 

"What the-" Dewey took a moment to take in what had happened to him. "W-where are we?"

 

"Somewhere actually off-limits," It was a small panic room, a place for the master of the house to be alone.

 

That was why it was off-limits to whoever wasn't Scrooge. Nobody but the ones who know the mansion well know of this room.

 

"Wha-" Duckworth shushed the child immediately, making sure Dewey doesn't raise his voice again.

 

"I must firmly state," Duckworth started, once Dewey was calm, "that I am not permitted to discuss her identity at all."

 

"But," Dewey wanted to know. "y-you do know something about her, right?"

 

"Just," The ghost nodded slowly, "...I hold opinions over many things Mr. McDuck has done. I do not just provide him with my service but I also stand as his confidant. If he detects that you are aware of things, erm, he does not like you to hear, I'm the first person he'll take care of."

 

"But you're a ghost!" Dewey noted. "I don't really why you'd be, like, threatened by him."

 

Duckworth gave Dewey a look that suggests Scrooge would be able to subject the ghost to a worse fate despite having passed. "I'm sure your great uncle has handled hauntings before."

 

"Right." Dewey said. "But, I still don't get why you brought us here."

 

Duckworth sighed, laxing his position a little. "Well, I rather tell you something. Despite my fears, it's harder for me now to control my urges."

 

"So, what does that mean?"

 

"Answers, sir." The ghost's worried grimace was slowly turning into a mocking sneer, personally unsure why he wanted to tell the young duck so badly. 

 

It feels just right to him.

 

Dewey thought this information through, and with a determined look. "Alright, Duckworth. Was Della Duck a good person?"

 

The ghost stirred a bit, raising Dewey's impatience.

 

"Della always did things with good intentions," The ghost replied, sounding unsure if _good_ was the right word to describe Della with. "She was very eager to do things, most especially if it involved her and doing something that brought glory to her own name."

 

"Do you know anything about the Spear of Selene?" Dewey asked, calmly taking in Duckworth's description of his mother.

 

"Your mother told me she needed it to find someone." 

 

"Wait, find someone?"

 

The ghost briefly scratched his snout. "That's all she told me concerning it."

 

"So we're still not sure if mom betrayed the family!" Dewey stomped on the floor, then sat down, ready to curl himself into a ball.

 

"Sir,"

 

"Argh, this is so frustrating..." He almost teared up.

 

The ghost moved towards Dewey, and knelt by the duck's side, hand on the back in caress.

 

Duckworth, despite his experience, had this sense of personal panic whenever he had to handle a child. He could never hide his stress around children. He envied Beakley for being better around them.

 

"She confided to me quite a lot." The ghost spoke, now with more gentleness. "She asked me to keep her secrets too."

 

"Sh-She did?" Dewey responded between quiet sobs, facing the ghost.

 

Duckworth nodded.

 

"She told me about many things, like how much she wanted to be like Mr. McDuck, or how much she loved that fellow she frequently met in Duckburg charities...even, well," he restrained a small chuckle, "She always enjoyed getting herself into trouble."

 

Dewey wiped his tears, even if his eyes weren't ready to stop. "Do you think she disappeared without thinking about me, a-and my brothers?"

 

"I don't speak for her, sir." He then cleared his throat. "But I doubt it. Her love for her own family is unparalleled."

 

 _Love for her own family_ were words Dewey recognized, and these have been associated with his mother a lot.

 

"R-Really?"

 

"I can be sure of it. The last thing she asked me to do for her was get parchment and a fountain pen. She would never leave without telling your great uncle."

 

Dewey gasped as something clicked in his brain, a sudden revelation stopping his tears.

 

He recited, **_"Scrooge, I've taken the Spear of Selene."_**

 

Standing, **_"I'm Sorry. Della."_**

 

Duckworth looked at Dewey in question.

 

Facing the ghost, eyes still red and puffy, "So you know she went to find somebody,"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"Do you know anything about that somebody? Did she say anything about them?"

 

"I'm afraid not, sir."

 

"Um, a-are you sure?"

 

"I am sure that my memory is infallible, sir."

 

Dewey hummed in frustration.

 

Something was terribly off.

 

"Also, can call me Dewey, please?" That was it. "I'm...I'm not all about the formalities."

 

As much as Duckworth kept a stoic face, his ears perked up and twitched. "O-of course, erm, Dewey."

 

Dewey took note of the ghost's body language but decided not to comment on it right away.

 

"Did mom know anyone outside of the family, who like, was her friend? Or anything close to that?" Answers suddenly felt so close to the young duck.

 

Dewey didn't expect an authority figure so open to share with him. He began to like Duckworth a lot more--he wasn't afraid, at least not anymore.

 

Duckworth straightened himself, "She envied Master Donald's ability to fraternize with many people, most especially in air of his bad luck."

 

"Wait, really?" Dewey could not believe that. "Did he tell you anything?"

 

"Not much of substance. He confided more with the friends he made. If my sources are correct, they hail from Mouseton and Spoonerville."

 

"They can't be that many, right?" Dewey chuckled incredulously. "There's no way Uncle Donald had that many friends."

 

"Two others came to the mansion once. Both foreign: one from Mexico and the other from Brazil." The butler tsked. "Although they had a very...contagious noise, a wonderful one I'll admit, the whole mansion had been drenched in smoke! To be fair, Mr. McDuck was no stranger to any danger to him."

 

"Why, did they smoke a lot?"

 

"Dreadfully so." Duckworth replied with a slight growl, not very fond of that day.

 

Dewey nodded in caution. "But what about mom? Did she have no friends?"

 

"To my knowledge, she only had two. Quite surprising, considering her well-known charisma."

 

Dewey remembered Selene, the moon goddess, who called Della _charming_. "Do you know about any of them?"

 

"She told me about one of them after her first trip to Ithaquack." Duckworth put his hands behind him. "After more trips, she told me she enjoyed the company of a-"

 

"Selene?"

 

An eyebrow raised. "Yes. Selene."

 

Duckworth considered if his boss has taken his grandnephews to the same place too.

 

At least Dewey could find a goddess credible. "What about her other friend?"

 

"Ah, him." Duckworth began to reminisce. "Della would never stop talking about him."

 

"Who's 'him'?"

 

"His name was Diggory, I believe." Duckworth had a smirk on his face. "Usually, she would refer to him in a variety of nicknames, with 'Diggy' as her favorite one."

 

Dewey restrained his snickering. "Oh yeah?"

 

"I mentioned him earlier; according to Della, he loved doing good and charitable acts. A volunteer for an organization. She noted his wonderful sense of order, need to be further respected by society, as well as his desire for complacency and a luxurious life."

 

Apparently Dewey's mother must have been picky in finding friends.

 

"Have you met him?" 

 

"I've only seen him in pictures with your mother, and..." A hand hovered near his mouth, remembering an order he had followed years ago.

 

"I'm afraid these pictures can no longer be retrieved." 

 

Dewey felt slightly discouraged. It just came to him now more properly that Scrooge would not approve what was transpiring between him and the butler.

 

The young duck swallowed, channeling his determination. "Well, did she tell you anything else about the guy?"

 

"A wide range of compliments, all from his singing voice, to the causes he believed in."

 

"Man, that Diggory must be one heck of a guy."

 

"I like to think your mother loved him very much." Duckworth said. "I could see him being one of her potential partners."

 

"Hm." Duckworth paused in his addition. "I mean, they could've--if not..." He sighed, finding the need to finish the sentence ridiculous.

 

"Huh." The funny thought of a random guy his mother admired being his father came to mind.

 

Of course, that would mean that this Diggory would be dead. Every time someone brought up their father, everyone will either say he's dead or know nothing about him.

 

The idea is too far-fetched, and Dewey discards this immediately.

 

"Do you think he's still around?" Dewey faced Duckworth.

 

"I hope so." The ghost tried to relax himself. "Your mother usually met him whenever she was out in Duckburg, pre-adventure or post-adventure."

 

"Alright," Dewey began to pace around. "What did you say he did again? J-just to confirm?"

 

"Charity work and community service. He was a volunteer and a vocal--but sadly not paid heed to--advocate for orphans, the poor, the hospitalized, and the general less fortunate. Emphasis on orphans and the poor."

 

"You said he was in those preachy organizations, right? Do you know which one he was in?"

 

"You would be correct, Dewey." A hand to his chin. "I'm not sure if it's Rosebarks, Ang-Young's Pond, Walter Wishes--no, that's not right--ah, Hurricane Hollies!"

 

"That's a lot." Dewey commented.

 

"You'll be surprised to find many charities scattered across Duckburg. This place is one of the richest and most expensive in Calisota, if not all of the country."

 

Dewey didn't realized the worth of Duckburg til then.

 

"So Hurricane Hollies? Kind of a weird name for a volunteer organization."

 

"It's the oldest of the independent charities; Mr. McDuck attempted to buy it to add something good to his name as a businessman."

 

"So they refused?"

 

"Violently," Duckworth noted. "According to Mr. McDuck, at least."

 

"Did he buy any of the ones you mentioned?"

 

"Rosebark's was his first. He ambitiously took Walter Wishes from a smaller business."

 

"Smaller business?"

 

"Well, it no longer exists, as it was merged with one of Mr. McDuck's existing businesses quickly after purchase." Duckworth sounded exhausted just trying to explain Scrooge's complicated business decisions.

 

"Man, Uncle Scrooge." Dewey remarked. "And Ang-Young's Pond?"

 

"Independent."

 

"Ah." Dewey then put his focus on Hurricane Hollies. "So, where's Hurricane Hollies? Like, it's headquarters, or something?"

 

"Silverbeak--it is easy to find. It is one of the oldest buildings there."

 

"Good to know." Dewey then looked closely at the ghost in suspicion. "You know a lot about Duckburg."

 

"I lived here for a long time." Duckworth replied.

 

Before Dewey could ask another question, Duckworth stopped him. "Are you planning to find this Diggory?"

 

"Well, yeah!" Dewey replied confidently. "You said mom was his friend, so he must know something about her."

 

"Hm." Duckworth put a hand to his mouth. Putting his hand away, "Diggory was a duck, no different to the likes of the ones who live here. He had hair brushed up, and straightened curls at the sides of his head that made his cheeks look sharp. He wore clothes in shades of gray."

 

"Wow," Dewey was surprised by this sudden description. "That was incredibly helpful."

 

"I had to listen to that over and over for almost a year." The butler admitted. "I appreciate the fact that it now will aid you."

 

"Thanks." Dewey smiled.

 

"Do wish to go? You might be needed."

 

"Yea-no. A few more questions, if you don't mind of course?"

 

"Not at all."

 

Dewey took a breath. "Was mom nice to you? Did you like her?"

 

"Well," Duckworth tried to relax himself. "She treated me like a friend, believing I was able to understand her well."

 

"Did you?"

 

"I understood Mr. McDuck. She is no different from the man she heavily idolizes."

 

"So," Dewey sat down again. "She loved Uncle Scrooge that much?"

 

"She has admitted it. Sometimes, she has confessed desires to be better than him, to be the well-known adventurer, to..." Duckworth felt himsef shiver. "Well, to be more than an accomplice to Scrooge McDuck."

 

"She sounds a lot like me." Dewey said.

 

"You know, she also asked me to refer to her by simply her first name."

 

"Really?"

 

"Really, Dewey." The discomfort leaked out the ghost's face. "And I have to admit this--I find that quite unsettling."

 

Dewey's breaths gained weight. "Am I really that much like her?"

 

"...do you like dark, morbid jokes?"

 

"Not really."

 

"Well, not really." The ghost felt a soft feeling. "She always enjoyed them, even begged me to give her some occasionally."

 

"That sounds messed up," Dewey chuckled. "Did she have that penchant for violence?"

 

"Definitely. By now, it has rubbed off on me, with her randomly yelling 'Think fast!"

 

Dewey then fell flat, looked up and caught Duckworth with an axe in his hands, having just swung suddenly.

 

"Are you kidding me?!"

 

"She did the same to me many times," The axe faded into the air.

 

That's a fake ghost axe.

 

"Man, that must suck if it happened everyday."

 

"Not everyday, but still frequent." Duckworth dusted himself.

 

"Yikes," Dewey sat up, taking a few breaths. "I can see why she confided in you. You're really nice to talk to."

 

The ghost smiled. "Thank you--"

 

**"DEWEY? WHERE ARE YOU?"**

 

"Uncle Donald!" The young duck got up in panic.

 

"Looks like you're needed." Duckworth then took Dewey's hand. "Let's go."

 

"Yes please, before he blows his head off!


End file.
